The Name of the Game
by Annoying tourist
Summary: Spencer Reid's life turns into a video game. Is he crazy, or is the Tutorial drawing him and his team into a hurricane of chaos from which they will not be able to escape. Be prepared for some epic BAU- style action, taking down UNSUBs and fighting for their lives.
1. Introduction to madness

**A/N: Okay, I just so happen to have a giant thing for those "my life is a video game fanfics" and much to my chagrin, I was unable to find any fics like this in the Criminal Minds fandom. So I decided to remedy that little problem. This is pretty much inspired by "Naruto: Game of the Year" and all other fics like it. Also inspired by "The Gamer" manga. Please enjoy the read~**

* * *

Population statistics on the hereditary of schizophrenia estimate that a child with one diagnosed parent has approximately a 10% chance of developing the disease themselves, yet research indicates that the inheritance of the complex disorder likely involves a number of various genetic factors. Meaning, he may have inherited a predisposition to the disorder but that does not necessarily guarantee that he would develop the disease. Reid frowned.

It was at that moment, waiting for a case briefing, that Reid's world tilted on its axis. All of a sudden, in that tiny moment, his entire life up until this point seemed inconsequential. Every moment of toe-curling joy or tear-jerking grief meant absolutely nothing as every single one of his 187 IQ points kicked his jellied brain into action. He was beyond shocked. Or maybe he was just so shocked that he had just come full circle and now he just felt numb. Only one thought went through his mind:

I. . . Am insane.

A floating panel hovered in front of his face, defying all laws of science and completely obliterating everything that he thought he knew about the world.

It flashed a bright blue and words appeared:

 **A DASTARDLY VILLAIN IS ON THE LOOSE, WATCH OUT! AS A PROFILER OF THE FBI, IT IS YOUR DUTY TO HUNT DOWN THIS NASTY S.O.B. IF YOU SUCCEED, TREASURE AND BOOTY AWAITS YOU! \\(^_')/**

 **. . . HOWEVER, IF YOU FAIL WHAT AWAITS IS A PAINFUL DEATH! (** **~ 0 ~) . . .**

 **DO YOU ACCEPT THE MISSION: _"DROPPIN' BOMBSHELLS"?_**

 **YES/NO**

'Huh, mission. I-' Ried's brain was still leaking out of his ears.

In a trance, Reid's trembling hand hovered over the YES/NO buttons. With one finger, he hesatatingly pressed the "YES" button against his better judgement.

 **THAT IS JUST _SUPER_! THE BRIEFING WILL BEGIN SHORTLY. . .**

The blue text box flashed briefly and then faded away. The abject horror was plain on Reid's face. He came to his senses. He and Morgan were sitting at a long table in the bullpen. They had been summoned there by Hotch, awaiting a team briefing on a new case. The others had yet to arrive. Morgan was using this oppertunity to catch up on some long overdue paperwork. He looked pretty intently focused on the massive pile of paper and was frowning and chewing his pen.

"M- Mor- Morgan!"

"What's up Reid, I'm kinda busy here." Morgan didn't look up from his writing.

"Did- did you see that?" Reid leapt from his chair and vigorously shook Morgan, much to his annoyance.

"What!" he frowned at the scribbles covering his paper. "Damn, you made me mess up."

"Tha- that b-blue box -it was. . . uh. . . just here. . . d-did you see it?"

Now Morgan looked up from his work and fixed Reid with a scrutinizing stare.

"Did you lose something, Kid?"

"No- well, it's just that I, uuuh. . . never mind. . ." He trailed off. He avoided Morgans eyes. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why the hell did he even ask. Now everyone will think he's crazy.

Now Morgan was giving him his complete undivided attention. He narrowed his eyes and studied Ried closely. No doubt he was thinking profiler-y thoughts. Reid squirmed uncomfortably.

"You okay Ried? You look a little pale."

"N-no, I'm fine. I should probably just get an earlier night." Reid ran his clammy hand over his face and through his stringy hair. He silently damned his genius mind in his head. That was an atricious lie. Seriously three doctorates and that was the best he could think of.

Morgan took a swig of his bitter coffee. Reid did the same.

"What, JJ keeping you up all night?"

Reid looked at him cluelessly.

"Y'know. . . Gettin' it _on_."

Reid spluttered into his coffee cup and his face lit up red.

"Oh, how about Prentiss?"

Reid thought his face would spontaneously combust. He wanted to disappear into the ground.

". . .Wait. . . _Strauss_?"

Reid choked on his coffee. He flailed his arm at Morgan's head. It connected with a satisfying yelp on Morgan's part. Ried coughed the last of the coffee out of his lungs and sat back down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"You are an ass." He grumbled. Reid wished that he had some paperwork to do, just for an excuse to ignore Morgan.

"Whoa, Reid, aren't you a little young for that kind of language?" Morgan laughed.

"Do you want another round?" Reid raised his fists in a vaguely kung-fu- like position that he saw in a movie once.

Morgan put down his mug and sighed. He looked into Rieds eyes, now practically radiating sincerity. Reid put his fists down.

"You're not having dreams again?"

"Everyone has dreams, Morgan."

"Nightmares." There was an uncomfortable silence. This was awkward. Reid figeted with his vest. As a profiler- someone who has to get into the minds of some of the most depraved murderers and criminals in the world- he has seen his fair share of horrors. It was a dangerous job and had put his life in danger far too many times.

Yes, he had nightmares sometimes. About the people he couldn't save, about the monsters that he had caught and the ones that he hadn't. But most of the time, he dreamt of what those monsters did. Things that somone would never even consider doing to another human being.

Reid hadn't had one of those in weeks. It was a plesant lull in the chaos that was his life. He could almost pretend that he was normal. . . that is until the incident with the little blue box.

Morgan took his silence as a resounding "yes".

"Well . . .uh, if you ever need to talk, you know that I'm here for you. . ." Yeah, definately awkward. A man shouldn't have to talk to his bro like this. Somewhwere deep inside, Morgan's inner manliness gave a scream as it imploded and formed a black hole.

Reid kept his eyes glued to his half empty mug and grunted incoherently. He didn't want to decieve his friend like this, but he didn't want Morgan to think he was absolutely nuts.

*DING*- Oh great this thing came with annoying sound effects.

 ** _ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: LYING LIKE A DOG!_ (' 0 ') ...**

 **YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DECIEVED YOUR CLOSEST FRIEND! IT TAKES A REAL LIAR TO FOOL A SEASONED PROFILER. AND A REAL ASS TO FOOL A FRIEND. BUT YOU HAVE SUCCEEDED. CONGRATULATIONS. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY, YOU LYING PIECE OF SHI-**

Reid tried not to shriek in horror. As if he didn't feel bad enough. Now a figment of his imagination was berating him. And it was snarky.

The doors to the bullpen opened with a muted whisper.

Hotch, Rossi, Emily and JJ marched through the door together with determined looks on their hardened faces. Seriously, they were cool, at least in Reid's opinion. Reid wondered if he looked like that whenever he was on a case. Much to Ried's relief, Morgan's attention shifted to the four and off of him.

Hotch tossed the file onto the table and yanked out a chair to sit on. Something about the case had obviously riled him up. Rossi, Emily and JJ took their seats. Reid noticed that the other three shared Hotch's poor mood, with the exception of Rossi who seemed slightly more restrained.`

Reid eyed the file on the table and saw that no one else was making a move. He cautiously reached over and slid it closer with his fingertips.

Reid peeked at the content of the casefile. It was filled with photographs.

Red.

He quickly snapped the file shut and slid it over to Morgan. The man opened the file. He didn't react, but lifted a hand to rub his forehead and shook his head slowly. Morgan chuckled, but it sounded more like a growl.

Rossi broke the silence. He enunciated every word with a flat drawl.

"The media are calling him the worst bomber to hit New York City since George Metesky. So far, he has set off two bombs in Twin Hill's Elementary School, yesterday, resulting in the deaths of eight students and the injury of fifteen people."

"Wait, why are we being called out to solve this, shouldn't the NYPD be handling this?", said Morgan.

"This", JJ pulled a slip of paper in an evidence bag from the file and lay it in front of Reid and Morgan

 _"I AM PROMETHIUS. I WILL BRING FIRE TO THIS CITY OF SCUM._

 _JUST TRY TO STOP THE WILL OF GOD."_

"He mailed a pipe bomb along with this note to The New York Times Building. It was the same kind of bomb as the ones that went off in the elementary school. Thank god it wasn't armed before he sent it. It was more like a warning", said JJ.

"Or a promise of things to come", said Prentiss.

 **ISN'T THIS JUST EXCITING? GET READY TO FACE PROMETHIUS IN _"DROPPIN' BOMBSHELLS"!_ AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, HAVE FUN! \\(^_')/ . . .**

All of a sudden, everyone in the room was frozen in time. Everything and everyone in the room was washed in grey, as if all the colour was sucked out. The only coloured things in the room were Reid and the little blue panel that he had recoiled from in shock.

"W- what is all this?" Reid trembled.

"What do you want from me!" Reid lashed out and slammed his fists into the panel, hard enough to make it vibrate.

 **I AM THE TUTORIAL! I AM HERE TO HELP YOU THROUGH THE GAME! (^_^)' . . .**

"Huh, game. What do you mean?" There was no answer.

Suddenly a giant blue panel appeared, much bigger than the previous ones.

 **MENU:**

 **RESUME**

 **CHARACTER STATS**

 **OPTIONS**

 **ACHIEVEMENTS**

 **MISSIONS**

 **HELP**

It didn't take a second for Reid to press the "HELP" button. In fact, he pressed it so hard that he was sure he almost broke his finger.

 **THIS FUNCTION IS NOT CURRENTLY AVAILABLE! (^3^) . . .**

'Eeeeh, is it. . . blowing a raspberry at me?' Reid jackhammered his finger on the help button.

'C'mon, help, help, help, help, HELP!'

The same panel appeared again and again. Realising the futility of this, Reid selected the "MISSIONS" button.

 **YOU HAVE ACCEPTED THE MISSION: " DROPPIN' BOMBSHELLS"**

 **A DASTARDLY VILLAIN IS ON THE LOOSE, WATCH OUT! AS A PROFILER OF THE FBI, IT IS YOUR DUTY TO HUNT DOWN THIS NASTY S.O.B. IF YOU SUCCEED, TREASURE AND BOOTY AWAITS YOU! \\(^_')/**

 **. . . HOWEVER, IF YOU FAIL WHAT AWAITS IS A PAINFUL DEATH! (~ 0 ~) . . .**

"This is pointless", mumbled Reid. "How the heck do I get back to the menu."

The game seemingly obliged. The mission panel disappeared and the menu blinked into existence.

Reid ignored the **"** ACHIEVEMENTS **"** button. No doubt it was more hurtful criticism from the Tutorial.

"Okay, how about- **OPTIONS** " Reid said it out loud this time, instead of pressing the button. Just as he thought, the "OPTIONS" menu popped up.

 **DIFFICULTY: _ULTRA MEGA SUPER IMPOSSIBLE_**

 **TUTORIAL: _ON_**

 **PARTY SYSTEM: _OFF_**

Reid was beginning to get the hang of this. "Lower the difficulty", he said.

 **DIFFICULTY IS LOCKED TO ULTRA MEGA SUPER IMPOSSIBLE! SORRY! (^3^) . . .**

"I- grrrrr", Reid trailed off into a growl. "FINE! Tutorial, off!"

 **TUTORIAL CANNOT BE TURNED OFF! (' _ ')~**

"WHAT! Why would you even have an options menu if you can't change a thing? Party system, ON!" Reid had no idea what it meant, but it was probably locked, too.

 **PARTY SYSTEM: _ON_**

"O- okay. Let's go back to the **_MENU_** " He felt vaguely relieved that he could change it, even if he didn't know what it did.

The "MENU" panel popped up.

" **CHARACTER STATS** "

A giant panel appeared, it looked like some kind of table.

 **SPENCER REID lvl. 9**

 **(You can gain more levels as you complete missions or gain experience)**

 **TITLE: BOY GENIUS**

 **STATS**

 ** _(Stat points are assigned as you gain levels or experience)_**

 **STRENGTH: 1**

 **INTELLIGENCE: 574**

 **CONSTITUTION: 1**

 **ENDURANCE: 5**

 **CHARISMA: 10**

 **WISDOM: 15**

 **SPECIAL ABILITIES**

 _ **(You have 0 ability points to assign. Complete more missions to gain more ability points. New abilities can also be unlocked through skill books.)**_

 **PROFILER: You can catch an UNSUB, tell them that they called their childhood puppy "Shiloh" and why they killed it with a socket wrench. (Does not affect your stats)**

 **REID EFFECT: An affliction that has affected you for your entire life. ( -200 charisma around animals and children)**

 **EIDETIC MEMORY: Lucky you. You remember everything you see or hear and everyone hates you for it. ( doubles intelligence stats)**

 **PERFECT HAIR: The gods have blessed you with amazing hair. Soft, long, and oh so luscious, everyone who meets you wants to run their fingers through it. ( +10 charisma)**

In that terrifying moment, Reid knew without a doubt, that he had absolutely and irrevocably gone off the deep end.

* * *

 **A/N: Aaaand that's a rap. I tried to translate Reid's skills into a set of stats. . . I may have exaggerated them for comedic effect. Poor, crazy Reid. Fun fact: "EIDETIC MEMORY" only DOUBLES intelligence stats. That means that the other 287 points are just pure _Reid_. Any comments/criticism are welcome~ :D**

 **(But please excuse my lame jokes)**


	2. Back to work

**A/N: To all 4 of my reviewers here's my warm beating heart on a platter: (' 0 ')/ 3**

 **I finally got off my lazy butt to do this, please enjoy!**

* * *

The whole team could feel the familliar tension of a case in progress, the weight of lives resting upon their shoulders. Cruising 40 000 feet in the air, they were making the most of the one hour flight by getting a headstart on their profile.

"A serial bomber has a unique profile that is unlike that of any other type of criminal. The act of making a bomb, planting it, then detonating it requires meticulous planning. Not to mention getting away with the crime. The UNSUB is likely to have a above average intelligence, and highly controlled.", Rossi began.

Reid looked up from his book.

"Based on precedent, most bombers are male, their motives usually vary from case to case, religion, sadism, revenge, political or financial gain." Reid ticked of the resaons on his fingers.

Hotch picked up where Reid left off, absently flicking through his documents as he spoke.

The UNSUB is likely a white male in his late twenties to early fourties. He is very intelligent. Judging by the construction of the bombs, he probably has a background career in electronics or something along those lines and if you look at his wording in the note-"

"I am Promethius. I will bring fire to this city of scum. Just try to stop the will of god." Morgan interrupted.

"He obviously sees himself as some sort of god", continued Hotch. "Or at least he wants us to think that he believes that."

"Promethius is a Titain in Greek mythology, the son of Lapetus and Clymene. His name also is derived from the Greek word meaning 'forethought'. During the war between the Titains and the Olympian gods, he took Zeus's side to help overthrow the old gods. Promethius avoided being punished with the rest of the Titains by chosing the winning side, so he was not sent to Tataurus with the rest of them.

"Promethius was generally seen as the protector of mankind. He tricked Zeus by asking him to chose between beef hidden inside an ox's stomach or bones wrapped in fat. Zeus chose the latter of the two, thereby creating a precedent of what humans could sacrifice from that moment on. Zeus was enraged as a result of his trick and hid fire from mankind as punishment. Promethius, in an attempt to help humanity, stole the fire back from Mount Olympus, hidden in a giant fennel stalk and returned it to the mortals."

"Well, listen to you, Boy Genius. It sounds like you just Googled that.", Morgan joked.

"As a punishment for the defiance of Promethius, Zeus has him bound by unbreakable chains to a rock in the Caucasus and sent an eagle to devour his liver every day, only for it to regenerate at night, for eternity." Reid finished and frowned at Morgan.

Morgan rolled his eyes and went back to drinking his coffee.

"Maybe by bombing that school, he felt that he was 'bringing fire' to them." Said Emily. "But I don't think that innocent school children and teachers quite classify as 'scum'."

"Maybe they aren't all quite so innocent."Said Rossi. The seasoned profiler closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to recall his past experiences "Serial bombers often hold onto their grudges until they snap and retaliate disproportianately to any percieved wrong done to them."

"Well, what I wonder is what exactly could a school child have done to earn the wrath of this 'Promethius'." JJ drawled the last part, as if mocking the monster who had earned the title.

"No, no, I phrased that wrong," Rossi interjected, shaking his hand, as if swatting away the question. "Any member of the school faculty could have been the target, there may not even be just one target. He could strike anywhere next unless we stop him."

"But if the UNSUB was targeting a member of the school's staff, he could have any oppertunity to kill them outside of their workplace. I mean, an elementary school is a very risky target. Why would he go to all that trouble?" Asked Hotch.

"So you think the connection is between the student victims. The UNSUB targeted them when he knew they would be all grouped together."

"The UNSUB could also be looking for revenge via a proxy, say, he has it out for one of the children's family." Said JJ.

"Well, judging by how the UNSUB said 'city of scum' in his note, maybe there will be more than one target. The next target could be anywhere in New York.", said Prentiss.

"Well the only way we can progress much further into the case is by visiting the scene and interviewing students and members of the faculty to find any connections.", said Hotch. He subtly ran his fingers over the hem of his breast pocket, where Reid knew he kept a picture of his young son, Jack.

To think all these years as profilers, they hadn't quite gotten used to the kinds of things that the UNSUBs would do. Reid wanted to say something to put Hotch at ease, but he knew that the conversation would be probably be wrought with much awkwardness and fumbled words.

"Hmm. . ." Reid went over the words of the note in his mind. "He doesn't use contractions at all, he says 'I am' and 'I will' instead of 'I'm' or 'I'll". This suggests that the UNSUB is rather pretentious."

"So do we have a narcissist on our hands?", said Morgan.

"That last line of his letter. . . 'Just try to stop the will of god.' it seems almost like a challenge. you would think the UNSUB would say to _not_ challenge him, given how highly he thinks of himself." said Rossi.

"An elementary school is a pretty gutsy target, I can only imagine the storm this will create in the media. It's as if the UNSUB wants the attention, what with mailing the note and the dud bomb to the New York Times Building, too." said JJ.

"It would fit in his profile as a narcissist", said Hotch. "Contacting the media will also grant him acknowledgement and a way to assert his superiority over the general public.

"Please, all of this is just speculation," said Rossi, "we should wait until we have more information to expand on the profile."

Reid looked up at Rossi "So the only way to figure out his motive is if we manage to discover the connection between the victims or if he. . . plants another bomb . . ."

"We'll make a lot of progress by just investigating the school and the victims." Said Hotch.

It was like the opressive atmosphere was weighing down the team. There was nothing much more they could do until they got to the scene. But, they could still try.

"Who's up for another cup of coffee?" Asked Morgan

The whole team unanimously raised their hands.

* * *

Near the back of the plane, Derek leaned close to Hotch and lowered his voice until it was barely audible.

"Do you notice anything off about Reid?"

Hotch didn't look up from the documents he was perusing but raised a single eyebrow.

"Not particularly, is there something wrong, Morgan."

"He's totally out of it, just look at him!"

Reid's hands were frozen, mid-way through flipping through the pages. His eyes were wide and focused on thin air. Reid cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes and went back to his reading, looking slightly irritated.

Hotch sincerely hoped that the young genius was just having yet another 'Reid Moment'. Hotch rubbed harshly at his bleary eyes and exhaled deeply. No. There was no denying it. Something was definately wrong.

"I'll go have a little talk with him-"

"Wait." Morgan stopped him before he got up. "Don't tell him I said anything."

Hotch acknowledged him with a small nod. He slowly got up, subtly stretching out his aching, cramped legs. He was not looking foward to this. Hotch managed to look very poised in his shuffling toward's Reid's seat. The tiny plane did him no favours.

Reid, slumped in his seat and facing the opposite direction, was totally engrossed in his reading, the pages flicked rapidly, his eyes absorbing each and every page almost ravenously.

'20, 000 words per minute', Hotch mentally reminded himself.

Hotch reached over the back of the seat and placed a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Reid."

Reid convulsed violently and his hands clenched the paperback book so fiercely that it ripped in half down the middle.

Reid sat up straighter and tried to look dignified. He put down the torn pieces, pretending it never happened and folded his arms in a very buisness-like manner.

"Is there something wrong, Hotch?" He looked up at the older profiler. Hotch took a seat opposite to Reid and rested his steepled hands on the table.

"I don't know, is there, Reid?"

Hotch was giving him his best stare. The kind reserved for suspects and UNSUBs. Crap. This was the only reason why Reid hated working with other profilers. Sometimes, he felt like an exceptionally interesting insect being examined under a magnifying glass.

"Nothing particularly. Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little off your game, lately. You know you can talk to any of us if you're having any kind of trouble."

" _Off my game?_ What are you talking about, Hotch, I'm completely _on_ my game!" Reid protested in a low but vehement voice. It was true. He was trying his hardest to keep his mind solely on the case, otherwise he would probably go absolutely nuts.

"You just seem a little. . . distracted."

Reid kept his eyes trained on his fingers which he kept tightly pressed together until they turned white.

A few awkward moments passed while Reid tried his absolute best not to act suspicious under Hotch's profiler-ey scrutiny. Hotch remained completely stoic, yet somehow managed to look expectant at the same time.

Reid was somehow reminded of the thought experiment where you would try your darndest not to think of pink elephants. No matter how hard you might try, your mind always ends up conjuring up the seven-ton monster in all its salmon-coloured glory. Right now, true to the experiment, the more un-suspicious Reid tried to act, the more he exhibited the signs of a shady individual.

There really was no use lying. Not when trapped in a pressurised metal tube with an extremely accomplished profiler, and 40 000 feet of air between you and the cold hard ground. Reid threw a longing look out the window. If he had a parachute, he would already be out the door. The rational part of Reid's brain thankfully kicked in before he could indulge in his fanciful delusion and die in an incredibly flashy, yet utterly stupid manner.

"Well, er. . . Hotch, have you ever, uh, played an MMORPG?"

"What?" Hotch vaguely remembered Garcia mentioning a word like that a few times before.

"Because that's what life is kinda like sometimes, a game. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose and, uh. . . well, sometimes you're just stuck playing that game forever with no ending. Because that's what life is like. It doesn't have an end. Well, uh, I guess it kinda does, but a lifetime is a really long time, y'know." Reid stopped his rambling, catching Hotch's utterly confused look. "Do you get my point?"

"Er, no, not really."

" _DING_ "- Reid, with much effort resisted the urge to groan.

 **ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: METAPHORGOTTEN**

 **YOU SUCK AT METAPHORS. CONGRATULATIONS! (+ o +)/**

Reid growled under his breath.

"Do you ever feel like you've taken a wrong turn in your life without realising it, but when you do, it's too late to back out?" Reid's words poured out of his mouth, he couldn't stop them.

Hotch's eyes widened and he leaned foward over the table. "Wait, Reid, you're not. . . reconsidering your career at the BAU?"

" _NO_!" Reid could not have said that more emphatically

It took a few seconds for the thoughts in Reid's mind to align. "Hotch. . . are- are _you_?" Hotch was reluctant to meet Reid's eyes.

"Reid- I-" Hotch's composure faltered as he stumbled over his words. "Uh, well, sometimes, I have had some doubts.", Hotch admitted, the slight shame burned in his chest. "But there's nothing that I would rather do than put those monsters behind bars. I won't condemn any career choice that you'll make, but don't you want that too?" It was a bit of a low blow on Hotch's part, but they were like family. And they all had to stay together.

" _Hotch."_ Reid hissed lowly. "I told you it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Hotch glared at Reid.

"I just meant, like, in general." Reid rubbed his arms as if he were cold. He looked everywhere but Hotch's eyes. "Y'know, like in life. Sometimes I just feel like everything is spinning out of control."

"Reid, I can help arrange some vaccation time so you can work out your problems." Hotch didn't really know what else he could do. It was an annoying feeling.

"Extra vaccation time won't help anything!" Reid was getting frustrated. He ran his hand over his face, then slowly lowered it when he saw Hotch's concern. He took a deep shuddering breath and felt some of his frustration slowly ebb away. "What I need is-" Reid's breath hitched. "I just need some time to think. Look, I appreciate the offer, but I think it would just make everything worse."

Hotch nodded reluctantly and leaned back, but didn't get up to go back to his seat. Instead, he picked up one of the folders on the pile next to Reid and pretended to read through it. Hotch snuck surreptitious looks at Reid from over the douments.

Internally, Hotch resolved to arrange a therapist for Reid some time. Neither of them would like it, but they had all been there. Everyone has their issues to work out, especially doing what they do.

Yes. In a few months Reid would receive a VERY unplesant surprise. And he would not forgive Hotch for some time after. . .

* * *

The elementary school stood out in the midst of the high-rise buildings of concrete and shiny glass. A bastion of traditional architecture in the middle of a bustling metropolis. The New York air was crisp, yet reeked faintly of car exhaust. Reid adjusted his sunglasses against the harsh rays of the summer sun.

"And this is the principal of Twin Hill's elementary." Said the senior NYPD detective, Simon Brown. The burly man introduced the team to the middle aged woman.

Rossi took initiative and shook her hand first.

"I'm Edith Angeles. I just wish we were meeting on different terms." The weariness was clear on her face. The womans bloodshot grey eyes met Rossi's.

Everything about the woman was was gaunt and faintly wrinkled. A bandage was taped to her left cheek.

"David Rossi, with the Behavioural Analysis Unit. This is my team, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid and Emily Prentiss." Rossi gestured to each of them.

JJ and Morgan weren't present because they had gone to check out the New York Times Building, just covering all bases, so to speak. Garcia was doing her tech-wizard thing back in Quantico where all her tech-wizard things were.

The woman quickly shook each of their hands, mumbling a quick greeting under her breath. Buisness as usual.

"Hi." Reid shook her hand. He noticed that while her grip was very firm, there was a faint tremor.

The woman led them through the 'threshold' of the school, a near-titanic red brick wall which covered the entire perimeter, topped with ornate decorative iron spikes. The wall was parted by a brick arch with tall, open iron gates. 'Pretty good security', Reid thought. it was certainly impressive.

"These gates are closed every night from 5pm to 6am. During that time, the school is empty, save for the cleaning staff. We also have 24 hour CCTV cameras monitoring the entrances to the school, as well as the courtyard." The woman walked briskly in front of the group.

"You thought it would be enough to keep out any intruders." Detective Brown spoke quietly. The principal gave a terse nod, not looking back at them.

As they walked further into the veritable fortress of a school, Reid was further impressed by the architecture. The brick building was the centerpiece of the area, modern buildings surrounded it. The principal led them down a long, wide, open-air corridor to a squat, yet large building.

Tall metal poles rose from the ground, holding up a broad metal roof above the gym's entrance. Strung between them was yellow police tape. The detective ducked under the tape and held it up politely for the others to pass under. They approached a set of tall, clear glass doors. They were covered with sheets of thick cardboard. The building looked much larger up close. Detective Brown produced a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the large padlock, unwinding the thick chains from between the sturdy metal handles.

The detective opened the doors, he dropped the chain at the group's feet. The clinking echoed within the hollow building.

The gym was completely dark, only illuminated by the bright shafts of light which lanced through the open doorway.

Reid almost recoiled at the stench, but steeled his nerves.

Putrid, stale air assaulted him. The familliar smell of coppery blood, rotting flesh and burnt hair overlayed with a faint smell of. . . something.

The group lingered in the doorway, then slowly walked in. The principal flicked on the light switch. Harsh flourescent lights suddenly blinked on in an explosion of light, illuminating every detail of the scene in cold clarity.

The interior of the gym was decorated with colourful blue and yellow streamers. Large plastic tables were arranged at the edges of the room, covered in cheap plastic tablecloths with pictures of dancing bears and red balloons on them. Stale, mouldy finger food and styrofoam cups of flat lemonade still lay on the tables, folding chairs scattered around like matchwood.

A massive section in the front of the gym was scorched. Holes ripped through the walls, leaving them dimpled.

Dry brown blood mottled the floor, walls and ceiling. Flecks of charred flesh scattered over the floor and clung to the basketball hoop.

"We were having a party, the third grade chior won this state competition. . . ", The principal trailed off. "We invited all of the students in third grade, you know, so the others don't feel left out. All fourty-seven of them." The lady ran a hand through her short, greying hair. "The year group's teachers- Miss Jones and Mrs Trailer decided to invite their parents, too. . ."

Reid winced subtly.

The principal kept her eyes firmly averted from the carnage laid out before her. Now, she was actually trembling visibly.

"I- I'm sorry, I still have a lot of paperwork to handle. Excuse me, I'll leave you to do your thing." She turned swiftly and marched out of the gym, her short heels clicking rhythmically.

The group kept their eyes trained on the scene, examining it for any kind of detail, method or emotion. Reid's eyes were on the buisness-like woman's retreating figure. 'She was there', he thought. He felt a small twinge of sympathy for the poor lady.

"Fancy school." Said Prentiss.

"Twin Hills is an all-girl's private school. Very prestigious and very expensive." Said Detective Brown. "What exactly would compell a killer to set off a bomb in a room full of children?"

"That's what we're here to find out", said Hotch.

"This bastard blew up eight little girls. In front of their friends and parents, no less." The detective growled lowly and ran his large hand over his stubble-covered chin.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry my fic is a little erratic, whipping from super-comical to super-serious. . . I just had the wild idea: what if a bunch of super-serious people were dragged into a ridiculous situation. . .**

 **And, yep! There you have it.**


	3. Obligatory filler (and some progress)

Reid surveyed the scene blankly. He felt his numb lips move on their own. He mouthed the words, barely a whisper.

"Definite overkill."

Prentiss rolled her eyes. Obviously.

"Tell us something we don't know"

Reid hummed under his breath and pulled out the facts from the recesses of his mind like water from a well.

"The forensic report says that gunpowder was used in the construction of the bomb- it's very prone to ignition from static electricity when packing in the material or screwing on the end caps. Nails were also added to the inside of the bomb- while these increase the amount of damage that the bomb does, they also add to the risk of accidental detination."

"So the UNSUB was willing to risk his own safety in exchange for a hell of a lot more damage." Hotch nodded to the carnage.

"Hm. _Definite overkill_." Prentiss acknowledged.

* * *

The sun was set low on the skyline, peeking through the monolithic skyscrapers, painting the dusky sky with swaths of red. The team had reconvened in a slightly seedy-looking hotel room. Getting a hotel room in New York City on such short notice was pretty much impossible. Rossi had naturally claimed the biggest room, so the team was using it as an impromptu meeting room. The NYPD were still arranging a room for them at the station, but they wanted to get a head start on the case before tomorrow.

The files and assorted papers were scattered over Rossi's bed in some sort of organised chaos. Reid sat on the bed and stared through the chinks in the blinds at the crimson sky.

"Please tell me that you got something." Reid begged JJ and Morgan.

"Well, we pulled up the CCTV tapes of the delivery." JJ opened her laptop and placed it on the bed.

The grainy, monochrome image showed a man in a wrinkled buisness shirt and dark slacks approach the reception desk with a brown paper- wrapped package held casually under his arm. He briefly chatted with the receptionist, she nodded and he left the package on top of the desk.

The man kept his face carefully turned away from the camera at all times. Only small glimpses of his pale cheek could be seen. '5 foot 8. White male. Likely to be middle age. Oh joy, there's only like a million of those in the city.'

"Act casual, look like you belong there, in and out. Simple" Morgan said.

"And clever." Said Rossi.

"The receptionist was unable to describe the man. I mean, who remembers every single person they meet, especially at work." Morgan said.

"I do." Reid frowned.

Reid was nailed in the head with a file.

* * *

"You've reached the office of the almightly goddess of knowledge. Virgin sacrifices are welcome, just leave 'em on my desk."

"Garcia **.** _Professional boundaries_." Hotch growled.

Garcia flinched. "Oh, hey Hotch, heh heh." Garcia ran her fingers through her outlandish braids and looked at the other occupants of the room through the webcam. "So. . .How goes things in N-Y-C?", she drawled and swayed nervously from side to side on her spinny- chair.

"Not very good." Hotch said, his voice devoid of all its previous steel.

"We need you to do a background check, starting with the male staff members of Twin Hill's Elementary. Mainly those who are associated the victims. Look for things like criminal records, our UNSUB is liable to lash out against any percieved wrongs done to him. Assault charges, restraining orders, those kinds of things."

"Just them? Oh well, it's gonna take some time, anyway."

"Uh-uh-uh, Baby Girl, you don't get off so easy. If you don't find anything interesting, we want you to look at the victim's backgrounds, then their parents if nothing else shows up after that." Morgan chuckled.

"Urrrgh." Garcia rubbed her eyes and slumped back in her office chair, spinning around a few times. Then, as if a flip switched inside her, she sat bolt upright. Radiating false enthusiasm. "Okay, I'm on it. I'll probably be done by the end of the day!"

"Really?" Prentiss asked hopefully.

"Hmmm, nah. . . I might need another day." Garcia tapped her chin with her sparkly pen.

"Two days? You're loosing your touch, Goddess." Morgan teased.

"Oh, Goddess, now? Are you willing to be my virgin sacri-"

"Garcia. _Profe_ -"

"I know, I know, sorry boss-man. I kinda forgot you were there for a second." Garcia smacked her head with her palm.

"I gotta go now. I'm gonna have so much fun with these background checks. Who knows, maybe I can dig up some pretty interesting dirt? ." She muttered more to herself than the team. She reached out to turn off the webcam.

"Wait, Garcia. I need to ask you something." Hotch said.

"Uh, sure Hotch. what is it?" Garcia looked nervous.

"Do you know what an MMORPG is?"

* * *

 **My apologies for the very late update. School holidays are over and homework is really kicking my ass. It's 2:08am right now and I. Am. On. Fire.**

 **I've decided to ease up on the grittiness and focus more on the team's dynamics and the whole "gamer" thing. Cheers to all those who reviewed, faved, followed, whatever. I really appreciate it and I'll try not to disappoint!**

 **Be prepared for much shorter chapters, but I'll try to update periodically.**


	4. Reid is whump'd slightly (Hahahaha)

**Thank you, everyone for your feedback. I'm really grateful for it and will definitely try to take it into consideration. Again, sorry for the delayed update.**

 **Christ, my first chapter was kinda crappy, but I can definitely feel my steady improvement with each chapter I post. So of can you stick with me and slog through all my incoherent rambling, I may just become a decent author by the end of this fic. MIGHT.**

* * *

"What do you mean, Rossi?" Reid was absolutely outraged. "Why can't I bunk with you?"

"I am a seasoned profiler and one of the greatest minds of the FBI. I do not ' _bunk_ ' with anyone."

Six profilers. Three hotel rooms. Four men. Two women. It should work out perfectly. . . _should_. . .

Who knew Rossi was such a priss.

"What's wrong, we're grownups, not a bunch of frat boys." Rossi said.

"Easy for you to say, Rossi." Reid tugged at his tie with a shaking hand and swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're not the one sharing the room."

"It's-it's unprofessional, un-ethical, and. . .and. . . _I'm not doing it."_ Reid fought down the blush creeping across his cheeks. This felt like the opening to some trashy romance novel at best, a low-budget porno-flick at worst. . .not that Reid would know anything about that.

"I fully agree with Reid", Hotch cut in, his flat voice dripping with disapproval. Rossi was being uncharacteristically immature.

"It's alright Reid, we don't bite." Emily laughed and ruffled the younger man's long hair like a dog.

"You can take the floor and Emily and I will take the bed." Said JJ nonchalantly.

"Wait, shouldn't you be offering me the bed?" Reid's brows furrowed slightly.

"Nah, I actually want to get a good night's sleep, tonight." Said Emily. She turned and beckoned the two to follow her.

Reid was not looking forward to this. Stupid Rossi. He grumbled various foreign expletives under his breath. _'Cazzo doccia mostro tentoni al seno'_

Rossi rose a single eyebrow at Reid's butchering of the Italian language but didn't react otherwise.

He turned on his heel violently and briskly followed the two women down the hallway to his doom. . . Er, room.

As they reached the door, Reid turned one last time and glared directly into Rossi's eyes. He tried to communicate every ounce of his rage and bloodlust in that look, Rossi's dark eyes met his and he held eye contact for a few very tense seconds until Reid's eyes started to feel heavy and he was forced to look away. Reid blinked a few times and slipped through the doorway. The door closed with a quiet click which echoed through the hallway.

Morgan discreetly fist-bumped Rossi.

"Nice", Morgan grinned.

Hotch rubbed the bridge of his nose. Was he the only professional on the team?

"What?" Morgan asked Hotch. "Reid totally needs to get laid. He's been acting way too weird this week."

Hotch sighed. God, they really were a bunch of frat boys.

* * *

Reid's lanky legs hung over the edge of the bathtub. The quilt lay in the bottom, a soft buffer between his bony back and the hard ceramic tub. Sleeping a bathtub is actually surprisingly comfortable. Reid did it all the time as a kid. . . well, okay. . . let's just say his childhood had been far from normal. But several years and one explosive growth spurt later, his lanky body just wouldn't fit in like it used to.

Well. At least he had the quilt. Emily and JJ would be sleeping out in the cold.

And he would be here, in the tub. Wrapped in his quilt like a cocoon and with some pretty decent light reading material. Not like he was going to get any decent sleep, anyway.

 _History of American Bombers. Psychology of Serial Bombers. Homemade Bombs. 21 Common Explosives and Where to Find Them. Bomb-Building for Aspiring Hobbyists._ The extremely heavy, hard-backed books lay on his chest and front like lead weights. The pressure was comforting. Almost . . .like a hug.

Reid groaned quietly. God he really needed to get laid.

Yes, maybe the old lady at the bookstore back home in Quantico had looked at him funny (and almost called the cops). But it was very much worth it. Maybe he could get a better insight into the case.

Reid picked up the first book **:** _History of American Bombers_ and cracked open the well-worn spine. He closed his eyes and breathed in that delightfully book-ish smell. Dry and slightly musty. Like a starving man before a three course meal, he was going to _devour_ this book. Spencer grinned savagely in anticipation, eyes still closed.

His eyes fluttered open. His brilliant smile twitched slightly and slowly faded away.

 **WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ THIS BOOK?**

 _"No_ ", Reid rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The box blinked away. Reid looked down at the book in his hands it was closed. Huh. Funny, he didn't remember closing it. He tried to open it again, but it was like all of the pages had been superglued together.

"Guh", He growled, frustration tightened his throat and made it impossible for him to breathe. He panted with exertion, wedging his finernails behind the front and back covers, yanking until he almost felt his nails tearing off.

And it did not budge even a millimetre.

"Fine. _Yes_. I do want to read this book very much." Reid fumed. Some tiny part of him felt like he had just lost a battle. A battle with an annoying little figment of his imagination.

 **OK :D**

It was just a colon and a capital 'D'. What made it look so sinister?

The book suddenly dissolved into light in his hands. The light shattered like sparkling glass and violently swirled around him in an glittering hurricane.

"Wait, wha-"

The light shards speared directly into his head.

* * *

For the umpteenth time, JJ awoke to Emily's toe up her nose.

Two girls sharing a bed. Not as sexy as it sounds.

Damn. Morgan would be so disappointed.

Sleeping head-to-toe on the queen-sized bed, JJ took the opportunity to press her frozen feet into Emily's toasty warm cheeks. 'An eye for an eye, Emily.' She thought spitefully.

God she was cold. Reid didn't deserve that quilt.

"JJ, I swear to god, if you shove your dirty feet into my face one more time, I will personally execute you."

"Well maybe you should refrain from ramming your nasty toes up my nose."

"Toes? what the heck are you-"

" _AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH_!" The piercing scream made their hairs stand on end and their hearts race, sending cold adrenaline lacing through their veins like poison.

" _REID_?" The women simultaneously bolted out of bed, the loose bed sheet momentarily slowed them down, tangling between their legs.

They hastily stumbled to the bathroom and slammed the door wide open, leaving a dent in the wall where the handle met the plaster.

Emily's run faltered at the doorway, but JJ sped past her.

Reid sat curled over himself in the bathtub, clutching his head in his pale hands like a vice.

"Reid. Reid! Are you okay?" JJ grabbed his shoulder and firmly shook him. Reid didn't respond, he only drew in rapid, shallow breaths which sounded suspiciously like sobs, he let out a muted hum under his breath.

"Reid, talk to us, _please_." Emily crouched next to the two.

Reid blinked slowly. He drew his trembling hands from his head slowly, wincing as they caught the knots in his long hair. He sat up and stared up at them, absolutely puzzled.

"Reid. What happened?" Emily kept her hand on his shoulder.

"Wha- I. . .I'm fine, really."

The two women shared a quick look. They did not move an inch. Reid sheepishly avoided their eyes.

"Emily, JJ, just go back to bed. Please." Reid pushed JJ's hand off his shoulder.

"Not until you tell me what the heck was that Reid." JJ refused to budge.

"I, uh. Promise not to laugh."

"Reid, we would never laugh at you for something like this." Emily told him firmly.

"I- I had a nightmare. I was attacked." JJ tensed slightly, but Emily didn't visibly react. Reid saw this and hastily corrected himself. I-I was, er. . . attacked by a book."

Emily blinked slowly. JJ covered her mouth with a hand.

"Heheheh." JJ chuckled. Emily elbowed her and glared.

"Leave Reid alone." Emily came to his rescue.

"I- I'm serious! It stabbed me in the head!", Reid yelped.

Emily's expression softened slightly. He cautiously met her eyes and saw. . . something in her gaze. 'Phew'. He was off the hook. Reid tried not to deflate visibly in relief.

 **"** Heh, only you, Reid." JJ got up from her knees, rubbing where the cold bathroom tiles had pressed. Yawning and feeling the night catching up with her, she headed for the door.

"Glad to see you're okay, Reid." Emily said softly.

She and Emily left, "We'll leave you to your. . .reading." Reid rolled his eyes at the lame pun as she started to close the door behind them.

Reid was left utterly alone in the hollow silence of the white-tiled walls and the glaring bathroom light. The sink tap dripped periodically-ta-ta-ta-tap-ta-ta-ta-tap, echoing within the hard walls and matching the rhythm of his still frantic heart.

Reid's thoughts raced. He really should speak up. . . say _something_ \- this madness was getting out of hand. The little blue text boxes were bad enough, but this was- well, it was worse. _Much worse_.

He had never felt more alone in his life.

"W-wait, guys." His voice broke slightly.

But they were already gone.

If they stuck around for just a moment longer, they would have seen Reid gather his head into his trembling hands again and cautiously let out a shuddering breath. Reid blinked away the wetness from his eyes.

* * *

God his brain felt so. . .so. . . _wrong_. Just what the hell was that?

Five hundred and fifty three pages. Twelve chapters. So many words.

The information was there. . .but not there. He couldn't recall the exact words from the book, which was unusual in itself, but if you asked him who Timothy McVeigh was, he would tell you that he was an American millitant who was convicted and executed on 11th June 2001 for the detonation of a truck bomb in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. One hundred and sixty eight dead. Over six hundred injured. One of the most significant acts in the history of domestic terrorism in America.

Reid was used to spouting facts and statistics, he had an eidetic memory after all. But this was different. Normally, it would be like peeking back in time. He should be able to 'feel' the crinkle of the slightly aged paper under his fingertips. He should be able to 'see' each and every letter with startling clarity, along with the tiny blotches of stray ink peppering the pages.

But it was as if all of the information printed in the ink of the pages had been condensed and then permanently flash-seared into his brain the moment that the light shards had stabbed his head. And it had only taken a fraction of a second.

Reid looked around for his book. Groping blindly for it, he felt nothing but air. It wasn't there. He must have devoured it.

"Heh. Heh." Reid chuckled softly. The slight chuckle slowly worked up to a hysterical wheeze.

 **YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE ABILITY: DEVOURER OF KNOWLEDGE!of**

 **EXCELLENT! YOU CAN ABSORB BOOKS IN AN INSTANT! A VERY HANDY ABILITY. . . KNOWLEDGE IS POWER, AFTER ALL! (^_^)**

Yet again, Reid utilised his small pool of patience to ignore the Tutorial. And how it always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

Have you ever been driven so far off the edge of the figurative cliff that represents your ability to cope with crap that you've somehow come full circle and found yourself back on top of the ledge? No?. . . Well Reid has.

'Alright Spencer, think positive. . . Just look for the silver lining, c'mon, man up. We're gonna make life lemonade.'

Reid's Pool of Patience had run dry. He dived into his Lake of Optimism instead.

Maybe- just maybe, this wasn't so bad, he tried to reason with himself. Reid weighed the pros and cons of this 'knowledge devouring' ability.

Con: His mind felt completely and utterly violated, like full-on mind-screw.

Pro: Pure, unadulterated, guilt-free, all-you-can-eat _knowledge._

There was a deafening roar of silence as even his thoughts slowed, leaving him only with the rapid tattoo of the dripping tap to break the silence in short bursts -ta-ta-ta-tap-ta-ta-ta-tap.

Reid tried wet his chapped lips with his dry tongue and eyed the haphazard pile of unopened books that had been strewn around the tub during his little "nightmare".

With firm, steady hands, he picked up one of the books. The title of it barely registered in his mind " _Bomb Building for Aspiring Hobbyists"._

 _"Yes."_

If knowledge really was power. . . Then Reid would become a _god._

* * *

 **A/N: Did you know that 98% of American voters agree that Reid should get laid. The other 2% is Aaron Hotchner.**


End file.
